"Some of us have to face hardships to find what we are really capable of."

"I never knew a man such as you would be interested in such a game." Torhyl comments as she places her bishop onto a square on the chess board.

  Ivar cocks his head.  "It's a game of strategy.  Each piece, each move, each and every outcome is controlled by your hand."

  Ivar takes her bishop with his rook which in turn she takes his rook.  They both meet each other's eyes with impressed looks. 

  "Not only is it a game of strategy," Torhyl comments as she follows his next move with one in turn.  "But one of timing and thriftiness."

  Torhyl watches as Ivar moves his bishop out to take her rook.  She moves another piece to counteract the attack and proceeds to plot another course of attack.

  "Indeed it is." Ivar agrees as he moves another pawn.

  Torhyl observes the look of concentration etched into Ivar's features.  His blue eyes scan the board with intensity as if each move determined the outcome of his future.

  "Enjoying the view, Commander?" Ivar meets her eyes with a smirk.

  "You intrigue me, prince." Torhyl comments, drawing her focus back to the chees board. 

  "In what way?" Ivar inquires as he watches her move another piece.

  "You are not outspoken like your brothers, and yet I would find it better if you spoke in all of their stead."  Torhyl explains.  "You are incredibly smart and yet you hold back...why?"

  Ivar grits his teeth at the thought of his brothers.  "My brothers would prefer if a man that was not crippled speak for them."

  "They find your disability a weakness?" Torhyl asks in disbelief.

  Ivar shrugs and keeps his eyes locked on the board in front of him.  "Anything that appears to be weak is destroyed in our culture.  So, they find great pleasure in reminding me that I should not be alive."

  Torhyl scoffs at the audacity of Ivar's siblings.  "I see their taunts as proof of their own weakness."

  "They do not see it as such, for they do not carry such a burden as I.  They do not know what it's like to live life as I have.  They have never suffered as I have."  Ivar snarls, moving a piece swiftly across the board.

  "And yet, you are the strongest out of all of them," Torhyl comments.  "You have learned how to take a hindrance and make it a strength while they have learnt how to romance liquor."

  Ivar snorts at her comment.  "Among other things."

  "I saw how they were eyeing the pig at dinner...I'm sure they would've had a good shot with her."

  Ivar laughs at her insults.  "No, I think the pig was definitely too good for them."

  "Oh, I agree." Torhyl shoots him a cheeky grin, before following him in a string of tipsy chuckles.

  Ivar moves his piece in silence as does Torhyl.  Ivar looks up at Torhyl's face, her gentle features illuminating in the dull candle light.  Her deep blue eyes dark over the chess board, searching diligently for a strategic move.  He admires the curves of her cheekbones and the sharp angle of her jawbone.  He follows the gentle flow of curves down to the dip in her collarbone, the smooth skin enrapturing his attention. 

  "Your move." Torhyl says, snapping him out of his daydream.

  Ivar moves his bishop to take one of Torhyl's pawns before resting his elbows on the table.  Her bottom lip shoots out into an impressed pout before proceeding to take his bishop with her queen.

  "My father told me much about your skill in combat," Ivar comments.  "He says that you fought as though it was already won, like you already knew every move a soldier was going to make before he did."

  Torhyl moves before answering.  "I trained to be the best I could be...I had no choice."

  "He said you were hurt."

  Torhyl's eyes stay on the board as she ignores Ivar's stare burning into her.  "It was but a scratch, nothing to be concerned about."

  "Floki said it was incredibly deep."

  Torhyl's eyes meet Ivar's.  "You were misinformed."

  "May I take a look?" Ivar questions motioning to her side.  "To ensure that it is not infected."

  "I can assure you...it is nothing to be concerned about." Torhyl assures him, but is only met with a blank stare.

  "I would rather find that out for myself." Ivar sends her a firm look.

  Torhyl stares at him back, neither one willing to let up.  Ivar raises a brow at her, challenging her to resist him.  Torhyl rolls her eyes at his insistent ways and walks around to where he sits.  She lifts the corner of her shirt to reveal her wound, the burnt tissue fused together to leave a gruesome scar.  Torhyl's skin quakes at the gentle touch of Ivar's fingers as the brush over her skin.

  "Did you seal this wound yourself?" Ivar observes the burn pattern. 

  Torhyl pulls her shirt down stiffly, her body still sensitive to the aftermath of his touch.  "No, but if it had to be done, I would have done it myself."

  Ivar takes a deep breath.  "Does it hurt?"

  "I have suffered worse." Torhyl comments simply, returning to her seat.

  "You have lived quite a harsh life, haven't you?" Ivar comments, his voice low and sombre.

  "Some of us have to face hardships to find what we are really capable of." Torhyl replies, moving her queen up to the place beside Ivar's king.

She meets his sombre gaze with a victorious smirk.  "Checkmate."